Embers
by Andraste1
Summary: Two hobbits come to terms with the aftermath of the quest. This is SLASH - please don't read if that offends you!
1. Chapter One

Title: Embers  
Author: Andraste  
Notes: This was the first piece of fanfiction I ever wrote. It's Merry/Pippin, set after 'Return of the King', and does contain spoilers for that book. It's also slash, so please don't read if that offends you. And it's a work in progress!  
Archiving: Please don't archive this anywhere without my permission; if you do ask, I'll probably say yes, providing my authorship and notes are left intact.  
Feedback: yes, please.  
  
Embers  
Part One  
  
---  
  
The house at Crickhollow was cold, and Merry left Pippin to light a fire on the hearth as he himself went to see to the stabling of their ponies. Pausing on his way back to the house, he noticed how silent and dark the countryside was, as if the world shared his grief. There would be a storm before morning; he could smell it, dark and dull in the air.  
  
Merry divested himself of his cloak in the hall, hanging it carefully on its hook, and entered the sitting-room. There were two candles lit on the mantel, and no other lights except that of the fire which burned pale and inadequate on the hearth; Pippin was kneeling in front of it, his back angled away from Merry, doing his best to fan the flames.   
  
"The wood's damp," said Merry. "You'll need to wait and let it dry out a bit." His words fell heavily into the silence, like sections chopped from a log.   
  
Pippin made no reply. Merry moved forward, intending to take matters with the fire into his own hands; Pippin was always impulsive, choking the fire with too much kindling or smothering it with too-large logs. Merry knew the way a fire had to be cared for; the kindling laid carefully, so that it resembled a lattice, with the tiny twigs and leaves poked down between to catch the sparks and get the flames travelling, and then the thicker sticks and logs laid atop that, once it had caught hold and burned brightly, giving the fire enough to feed on until it crackled and roared and could boil a kettle or heat soup in a few minutes.  
  
He approached Pippin and put a hand on his shoulder, smiling, intending to put him aside with a light jest and tend the fire himself; but Pippin turned towards him and Merry's heart caught in his throat, for Pippin was crying, tears glistening on his face, lips open and trembling. He looked astonishingly, achingly young.  
  
Merry felt something inside him quiver and recoil from the pain in those eyes that had never yet failed to give him smile for smile. He opened his mouth to speak, to offer some comfort, but Pippin forestalled him, rocking back on his heels.   
  
"He was going to leave without telling us goodbye". He sniffed and dragged the back of his hand roughly over his eyes.  
  
"Oh, Pip." Merry knelt beside him and reached out to brush the hair back from Pippin's forehead, a gesture both of them had found comforting in the past, but Pippin jerked away from him angrily and slumped down onto his knees.   
  
"He was going to leave without saying goodbye. He was just going, just like that, without saying anything, without even letting us kiss him goodbye and give him our love. He was just going, going, going without anything - " Pippin's voice choked off, tears spilling over and falling onto his shirt front; his face was contorted with rage and grief. To Merry's horror, he raised his clenched fists and beat his thighs with them, striking blows hard enough to causes bruises. Again. Again. On the fourth stroke Merry managed to catch at the flying wrists, grasping them firmly against his cousin's struggles; as he pulled at them Pippin suddenly went limp, falling forward with his head in Merry's lap, just as he had done as a child when he came to Merry for comfort.   
  
Merry stroked his cousin's soft hair, conscious of a thudding in his chest. He moved his long fingers over Pippin's head and shoulders and arms, caressing and stroking, trying to impart some comfort. They had sat together like this on the slopes outside Moria, their lungs taking stinging gasps of cold air, a sparse covering of snow on the rocks, and Pippin had wept and Merry had kneaded his shoulder in a helpless attempt at consolation.  
  
Memories of the helplessness and grief of Moria led Merry to thinking about the day they had just experienced; the remote loving look on Frodo's face as he kissed Merry goodbye, and Sam's erect shoulders sagging suddenly as they turned to mount the ponies. Pippin's desperate expression as they set out on receiving Gandalf's message, his tears and smiles at the Havens, his upright stance and set face as they rode home. The hollowness of realising that Frodo had gone away, not only where he could not be followed, but into a state of mind which none of those remaining could understand or hope to lessen for him. A great surge of grief and rage and loneliness rose up within Merry. It was too much; he fell forward and folded himself over Pippin's body, pulling Pippin over into his arms as he himself slid to the floor.   
  
Merry cradled Pippin against his chest, relishing the feel of the warm body against his; the soft flesh and firm muscle alive and moving in his arms, the lithe limbs wrapping themselves around him, the soft breath on his neck - and oh, the scent of Pippin's hair! Pippin was the most familiar and beloved thing in the world, and Merry wanted to protect him and cling to him and crawl inside his skin with him, all at the same time.   
  
Pippin was openly and unashamedly sobbing now, his face pressed into Merry's neck; Merry could feel his hot tears and the sweep of his breath. He gently tugged at Pippin's hair, wanting to smile into his eyes and comfort him. Pippin's head fell back on Merry's shoulder, and his face became visible, hectic and flushed with crying. Tears spilled from his eyes as he sobbed out "Oh Merry, I can't bear it -"  
  
The words caught at Merry's heart like hooks, threatening to draw out the grief he himself had kept folded and walled inside. And how long could he bear it, keeping such feelings inside, before they crawled out onto the surface of his skin? He needed to keep strong, to keep his mind steady, to think of the right thing to say to comfort Pippin. His Pippin, his baby cousin, who had toddled after him until his legs grew long and nimble enough to outrun anyone. Who had always shared with Merry the apples he scrumped from trees around Bywater, who would wrinkle his nose and screw up his mouth when one of his sisters kissed him but would happily fly into Merry's arms and cover his cheek with extravagant smacks delivered enthusiastically enough to sting.   
  
The sweet curve of the mouth, the quivering chin, the sparkling green eyes, all were his baby cousin still; but the soldier of Gondor showed himself in the determined attempt to hold the chin steady, in the way the green eyes were now veiled with water like a garden in the rain. Young eyes, the eyes of a child, with a grown adult's pain in them.   
  
"Pip, Pippin," Merry murmured. "It's all right, it's all right. I'm here." He knew, even as Pippin drew a suddering breath to speak again, that it was not all right, that it might not be all right ever again, but any words would be inadequate and both he and Pippin knew it. All he could offer was the comfort of his own presence.  
  
"How could he just go like that? Leave the Shire, the ones who love him most, leave everything -" Pippin's voice was thick with tears. Merry stroked his hair gently.  
  
"He was too much hurt, Pip. You know what Gandalf said. He couldn't stay. He had to find healing." Merry stroked his long fingers down from the back of Pippin's head, over his shaking shoulders and down gently over the rippling length of his back. "But he saved us all, Pip, and there will be stories and tales about him, and about all of us, told for many long years, after we've gone, about how brave and -"  
  
"I don't want tales and songs and stories. I want Frodo back."  
  
---  
  
TBC 


	2. Chapter Two

Author's Note: Thank you for all the reviews!  
  
****  
  
Merry sighed, thumbing the tears from Pippin's cheeks; but there were so many that they spilled over his thumbs and down the backs of his hands. "There was no help for it, dearest. He couldn't stay. He was too much hurt."  
  
"How can you be so calm about it?" Pippin's voice rose and choked. "Merry, it's not fair!"  
  
Merry closed his eyes, breathing deep and long. There was a lump in his throat, and an iron band around his chest, making breathing difficult. Tears prickled behind his eyelids, but he forced them away. Pippin needed him strong now. He bent his head closer, leaning his forehead against Pippin's, taking comfort in the warm press of their foreheads together.   
  
A moment later, he opened his eyes, and that was his undoing.   
  
Pippin's eyes were looking into his, brimming with tears and so pain-filled that Merry could scarcely bear it. As Pippin's eyes closed tearfully again, Merry leaned closer to close the last space between their faces, intending to press a gentle kiss on Pippin's cheek, as he'd done countless times in the past; but before he knew what was happening, he found his lips pressed against the trembling sweet curve of Pippin's mouth. And oh, he was swept away; suddenly found he was scarcely aware of anything except those warm soft lips on his and the sudden thrill that rushed through him, excitement and terror and joy making his heart pound and snatching his breath from his lungs. He could taste Pippin's tears on his lips, could feel Pippin trembling in his arms, more than trembling now, he was shaking like a tree in a high wind, and Merry was kissing Pippin as if he could not stop, being tossed around like a stick in a storm, flying through the air, not knowing where he would land.  
  
Pippin made a tiny panicked noise in the back of his throat and tensed in Merry's arms, and Merry broke away, alarmed. As he squatted back on his heels, wondering at himself, he noticed that Pippin had stopped crying, but tears still glistened on his still face in the light of the dying fire and he was trembling noticeably, eyes wide and startled. Merry reached out a hand towards him, hoping that he hadn't made things worse. He tried to speak, but found that no words would come; they danced just out of his reach like leaves on the wind.  
  
"Merry..." Pippin's tongue flicked out, unconsciously, running over his bottom lip where Merry had kissed it. He abruptly scrambled to his feet and stood for a moment above Merry, who felt suddenly heavy and unable to move. He looked up at Pippin standing above him, wet-faced and his fingers blackened by ash; Pippin's chin trembled, his hands by his sides clenched and unclenched, and then he whirled around on his heel and was gone, the front door slamming behind him.   
  
Merry closed his eyes, wondering at himself. Not that he had kissed Pippin, but that he had kissed him like that, and why he had done it now. Oh, he'd known that his feelings for his young cousin included desire, mixed in with other emotions like love and protectiveness and sheer joy in Pippin's company; but he'd kept the desire apart from the everyday life of food and rambles and fun because, well, Pippin was young, not even of age yet; he was too precious for Merry to risk damaging their closeness by confronting him with these feelings too soon, and there was plenty of time for that later. Then during the long and dark and terrible time when they fled and fought together, they had so little time to themselves, and most of it spent in comforting one another's terror, or their fears for Frodo, or sharing the jokes and concerns and minor triumphs of the day, as they had always done in private. There was no time for desire in the hurried dash from Weathertop to Rivendell, or in the ruins of Isengard. And then they had been apart, and that was the hardest thing of all. Merry had faced battles and hardships and the terror of the Witch-King with sword in hand and grim face, but his heart had longed desperately for Pippin and many times tears had trickled down his face, mistaken for rain or sweat by those few who saw.   
  
He had never doubted that Pippin loved him as deeply; he had known that Pippin's heart was his since his cousin was a wee lad. In more recent years he had occasionally wondered whether Pippin felt desire for him in return, but he had been assured of it by the swift leap in Pippin's heartbeat when Merry pillowed his head on his cousin's chest, the slight tremble of Pippin's hand in his, the sudden intake of breath on some occasions when they touched. Pippin loved him and wanted him - but, Merry berated himself, he'd spoiled it by forcing the issue too soon. It had all gone wrong, because the day had been hard and the time was too soon after Frodo's going - how could he have been so stupid, how could he have taken advantage of Pippin's need for comfort and used it for his own pleasure? Tonight's grief was too raw to be rubbed away by the press of lips or the meeting of bodies; this night was for grief and talk and tears. Ever since Pippin was very small, he had counted on Merry to explain the things he didn't understand; now he had come to him because he needed comfort, and needed to understand why Frodo had to leave. And Merry had let him down.  
  
Merry felt the tears which he'd struggled to hold back prickle behind his eyelids. He was so tired. Everything was wrong. Thoughts tumbled around in his head, clanking their sides together heavily like beer tankards. He loved Pippin, but he had upset him, and the fire was dying, and he didn't know how to make things better, and Pippin's lips were warm, and the floor was hard beneath his knees, and Frodo was gone. Frodo, beloved cousin, master of Bag End; ringbearer, saviour of the world, and traveller on a journey from which there was no return.   
  
The world came crashing down, dense and black. Merry wearily got to his feet, which felt like blocks of stone, and picked up a candlestick. The house was empty and still cold, and he wanted to be warm and to forget his pain and grief for a while. There was wine in the kitchen, four bottles, taken from the cellars at Brandy Hall a few days ago. A nightcap would warm him and help him sleep, and perhaps when he woke in the morning, Pippin would be there.  
  
Behind him there was a sputter as the last embers of the fire died away. 


	3. Chapter Three

Merry's eyes opened to dense, heavy blackness, pressing down on him; the world was moving, and he was the still centre, but he was falling backwards and the ceiling was caving in. His throat was sore and his mouth tasted vile, and the air was cold on his teeth as he sucked it in. It was so dark, and he was going to be sick; he needed to get outside. He fumbled for the matches he knew were on the nightstand, but his hands were difficult to control and landed in the wrong place; there was a loud thump and the crash of breaking glass, and he realised that he had knocked the entire nightstand over.   
  
Merry flung himself sideways and was on the floor; he braced himself with both hands, trying to pull himself to his feet, then cried out loudly as he felt a sharp pain and realised that he'd put his palm right on the broken glass. Sobbing, he crawled a few feet before pitching forward; the hard wood of the floor came up to meet him, jarring his teeth. He forced himself up onto his knees, crying out again as the pressure on his cut hand stabbed heat and pain through him; he tried to stand, but it was as if his limbs were made of soft dough and oozed out of shape when he tried to move them. Suddenly bile filled his mouth and he was vomiting onto the floor, bracing himself on his bloodied and throbbing palm, feeling more wretched than he had ever felt before.  
  
He felt Pippin's presence in the room before he was that the door had opened; he became aware of the steady flicker of candlelight and felt the footsteps on the floor. Then Pippin was kneeling at his side, holding his hair back from his face while he gasped and heaved and choked on the vile taste and sour smell. Firm hands rubbed his shoulders, supported him and helped him to sit back on his heels.   
  
"There, now," Pippin said softly. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that a Brandybuck can't hold his drink."  
  
Merry tried to protest, but he was sobbing and gasping and the words wouldn't form; then he felt Pippin's warm arms around him, and he was being lifted gently to his feet. The arms stayed about him as he stumbled, feeling as if he were moving through honey, and guided him to step around the mess on the floor.   
  
"Come along now. Foot by foot." Pippin's voice was low and thick with emotion, and the words tugged at something buried deep in Merry's mind, but he couldn't pull the memory clear. Soon he was being eased down onto a bed, not his own, the sheets still warm. Pippin's warm face pressed into his hair for a moment, then pulled away. Too sick and ashamed and weary to lift his head, Merry sat and listened to the sounds of water trickling into a basin, of drawers being opened, a match being struck. Then Pippin knelt on the floor before him and gently took Merry's injured hand in one of his own, holding a lamp close to examine the injury; Merry watched the golden light flicker over Pippin's bent head, picking out coppery glints in his curls.   
  
"I don't think there's any glass left in here," said Pippin, putting the lamp down and picking up a basin; he dipped Merry's hand into the basin, moving it back and forth to wash off the blood, and then bent to examine it by lamplight again. His hands were steady and kind, moving deftly to pat the hand dry and wrap it firmly with a strip of clean cloth. He wiped Merry's face and lips with a damp cloth, and then was holding a cup of cool water to his lips; Merry drank thirstily and then Pippin guided him to lie down into the bed, and pulled the covers over him.  
  
Feeling dizzy and sick, Merry lay still for a few moments before he realised that the noises of Pippin moving around the room had ceased. He opened his eyes and saw the flicker of a single candle, but no other movement; the room was empty. Pippin had gone. Merry closed his eyes again and let the hot tears trickle out from under his eyelids. What had he done now? He'd made things worse. He'd drunk too much, and been sick, and broken things. He'd probably scared Pippin half to death with the noises and the blood and the sight of Merry, the strong one, the responsible protector, reduced to a whimpering puking mess on the bedroom floor. Pippin must be thinking, now, that he could no longer rely on Merry to counsel and guide him and answer his questions - that he had lost two of his cousins within a day. If Pippin no longer felt he had anyone to rely on, what would become of him? Where had he gone now, grieving for Frodo, without Merry to help and comfort him? Merry rolled onto his side and sobbed, letting the tears wet the pillow, feeling his sore hand begin to throb again dully.  
  
How long he cried, he did not know; but after a time the door opened and Pippin was swiftly at the bedside, dropping to his knees so that his face was level with Merry's. "Merry, oh Merry. What's wrong? Are you going to be sick again?"  
  
"Don't leave me," Merry sobbed.  
  
"Leave you?"   
  
"Don't leave me, Pippin, please, I'll die if you leave me. Don't leave me."   
  
"Oh, Merry," Pippin's hand reached out and stroked his head gently, slim fingers sifting through his hair. "What makes you think I would ever leave you? We're family."  
  
"So was Frodo - " choked Merry, and he reached out with a shaking hand that would not find its target, so blinded by tears was he. Then Pippin's hands caught his, and it was pressed to Pippin's cheek, and he could feel that Pippin's face was wet.  
  
"Merry, my Merry - " Pippin's voice caught. "I could never leave you. Dearest Merry. I'm here, I'm not going anywhere."   
  
***  
  
TBC... 


	4. Chapter Four

Author's Note: Thank you so much, everyone, for all the kind reviews. It's really very inspirational to know people are reading and enjoying.  
  
  
  
  
Merry opened his eyes and immediately wished he hadn't. Weak sunlight filtered through the window and dappled over the bedcovers; his head ached, his stomach churned horribly, and he felt as if a portion of the back of his neck was being pulled away by unseen hands. His eyes were sore and tender, and the strip of cloth around his hand had come undone during the night, leaving a few bloody smudges on his hand and the sheets.  
  
Sitting up, he realised that he was in Pippin's room, and that he was alone; and then the events of the previous day and evening flooded back to him in a chaos of images and emotions, and he groaned. Wincing at the movement, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. There was an earthenware mug full of water on the nightstand, and he gulped it thirstily down before feeling sufficiently revived to place his feet on the floor. His hand was hot and sore and he felt around in the sheets for the bandage before realising that he would have trouble replacing it one-handed.  
  
He rose from the bed and walked to the door; opening it cautiously, he listened for sounds, and heard a faint clattering from the kitchen. He walked down the corridor and peered into his own bedroom; the floor was clean, the nightstand had been repositioned and any broken glass swept up, and the window had been thrown open to freshen the room. Merry continued towards the kitchen; the door was closed, and he swallowed heavily. He paused with his hand on the doorknob, feeling ashamed of himself and terrified of what he might find within; but even if Pippin was angry or hurt or disappointed or still upset, he had to be faced and things made right again, no matter how bad Merry felt or how his head throbbed.   
  
Taking a deep breath, he opened the door; and Pippin looked up solemn-faced from the table where he had his head bent over a mug of tea. They looked at one another for a long moment; Merry could not read Pippin's expression - apprehension, worry, distaste? Pippin's face was usually so open and familiar to him that he could read everything his cousin felt there, indeed almost feel it; it was disturbing not to know what was going through Pippin's head.   
  
Then Pippin rose from the table and walked around it to touch Merry lightly on the arm. "You must feel like death," he said gently. "Come and sit down, and I'll make you some strong tea."  
  
Merry allowed himself to be led to a seat at the wide wooden table, and watched as Pippin moved about the room, putting the kettle back on the stove, rinsing out the teapot and spooning tea-leaves into it. The kitchen was warm, the light filtered through the trees outside so that it didn't hurt Merry's eyes as the sunlight in the bedroom had done. "Where did you sleep last night?" Merry wondered aloud.  
  
There was a swift indrawn breath, and then Pippin answered "In my bed. With you." He placed the lid carefully back on the tea-caddy. "Don't you remember?"  
  
Merry frowned, willing the memory to come back; he shook his head.   
  
"I didn't want to leave you. You were - a bit upset," said Pippin carefully, returning to his own cup of tea.  
  
"I know," said Merry, lowering his eyes to the table. He felt his chest seize up tight, as if a band were constricting around it and crushing his ribs; hot tears rose to his eyes and he pressed his lips tightly together, trying to hold back the wave of grief and shame.   
  
Pippin's voice was low. "Do you want me to make you something to eat?"  
  
"No," said Merry, without looking up.  
  
"It would do you good."  
  
Merry could think of nothing to say, and so he looked down at his hands. He wanted desperately to ask Pippin - what? What could he ask him? How could he bring up their grief over Frodo, Pippin's disappearance, the kiss, anything that had happened last night? When had it become so difficult for them to speak plainly to one another?  
  
"How much did you drink last night?" asked Pippin; Merry looked up, expecting to see him frowning, but Pippin was smiling, albeit sadly and with a wry twist to his mouth.   
  
"I don't really remember," confessed Merry. "Too much."  
  
Pippin snorted. "That much is obvious. You should have stuck to ale; it would have taken you a lot longer to drink enough of that to make you sick."  
  
The kettle began to hum and Pippin got up to pour the water into the pot. Merry leaned his elbow on the table and rested his head in his hand; it felt as if his spine wasn't strong enough to take the weight. His stomach was threatening to leap up into his throat, and his heart was beating absurdly fast, and Pippin's expression was still unfathomable to him. He watched warily through his fingers as Pippin put the kettle back on the stove, as he bustled about getting honey and a spoon, as the tea curled into the mug and the steam wreathed around it.  
  
Pippin pushed the full mug of tea over to Merry. "Drink up. You'll feel all the better for it, once you've got something inside you." He watched while Merry took the mug and lifted it, letting the steam moisten his dry lips before sipping. At first it made his stomach a little queasy, but he was conscious of Pippin's eyes on him and kept sipping until he had finished half the mug before putting it down on the table and realising with surprise that he did feel a little better.  
  
"Now some food," said Pippin. "I'll make you some toast and a boiled egg."  
  
Merry looked down at his hands and swallowed, trying to breathe deeply to calm the fluttering of his heart. "Pippin. We need to talk about it."  
  
There was no answer for a moment, except unsteady breathing, and then Pippin said, very low, "I can't."  
  
"We need to, Pip."  
  
Pippin lifted the teapot and poured more tea into Merry's mug; Merry noticed that his hand was shaking, causing the smooth flow of liquid to ripple and splash. The pot was replaced on the table, and then Merry looked fully up, into Pippin's face, at a slightly quivering lip above a jaw that was clenched with the strain of keeping calm. He realised suddenly that Pippin was having as much trouble with this morning as he himself was.   
  
"I don't think talking about it will make it any better," said Pippin; his voice was tight, and then it quavered slightly as he continued, "and I don't know what to say to you, Merry."   
  
"Then I'll start," said Merry, drawing a deep breath. "Pippin, I'm so sorry -"  
  
"*You're* sorry?" Pippin's face suddenly changed as if a mask had fallen away, his eyes widening. "Merry!"  
  
"I'm sorry I got drunk. I'm sorry I woke you up in the middle of the night, and upset you. I'm sorry I broke a glass, and was sick, and made all that mess for you to clean up." Merry found that now he had his courage, the words slipped away from him as smooth as cream. "I'm sorry I scared you before that, and made you run away. I'm sorry that I can't find the words to comfort you, Pippin, and I wish, I wish there was something I could do to make things all right again. I'm sorry I wasn't able to help you when you needed me." He pushed his mug away with a groan, folded his arms on the table and pressed his forehead against them. "I wish," he said, feeling the tears begin to shred and tangle his voice, "I wish I could help you, and help Sam, and get Frodo back here again and make everything all right. I can't bring Frodo back to us and I don't know, I don't know everything that happened to him, to make him have to leave. I don't think anyone can know that, truly, expect perhaps Sam. But I'll do my best to help you, Pip, if you let me try. I'm just, I was just so tired and upset, and I didn't know where you had gone -"   
  
"I went to the inn, to have an ale and a think. We had the same idea, Merry, only we did it differently." Pippin's hand reached out and tentatively stroked Merry's hair, and his voice quivered. "I've never seen you cry like that before, Merry. You hardly ever cry."   
  
"I cry." said Merry softly. He smiled painfully through a fresh flood of tears, lifting his head so that Pippin's hand slid off. "Frodo was my older cousin when I was little, Pip, and I loved him and followed him around, just as you did with me. Just as you did. And I used to go to him and cry on his shoulder and ask for help, as you always did with me. And he would comfort me."  
  
Pippin looked at him across the table, a tear slipping down the side of his nose, and Merry looked into those wet green eyes and found that Pippin's face was open to him again, filled with love and trust and the beginnings of a painful understanding, and so beautiful and vulnerable that Pippin's tears called forth tears from his own eyes. Pippin reached out his hand again, and Merry reached out his as well, and their hands clasped warm and yielding over the hard surface of the table. A moment later they were both on their feet, and a moment after that they were in one another's arms. Merry pressed his forehead against Pippin's shoulder, feeling that it could bear the weight of his aching head for a while, and Pippin buried his face in Merry's neck and cried a little, while they gently rocked one another, each relaxing into the other's tender strength.   
  
TBC... 


	5. Chapter Five

"Now you've got some good solid food in you, you'll feel much, much better." Pippin was kneeling on the hearth, breaking up twigs with his hands; Merry winced at the popping sounds but said nothing, pleased to see Pippin building the fire with at least half as much care as he himself would have put into the task. He did feel better now that he had eaten, and his throbbing head was now resting on a cushion on the couch, his feet up at the other end; but he still felt uneasily that there was more that needed to be said. He knew also that Pippin felt it too, and that Pippin was unwilling to talk about it, as he had filled the past hour with inconsequential talk and actions - cooking, clearing dishes, making the fire - knowing that Merry would not interrupt his work to talk about anything important. Merry realised that the unwillingness to stop being busy was the reason Pippin was building the fire so carefully, without his usual quick and clumsy methods, and smiled.  
  
"There! That'll have to do. I can't get any more wood today, the storm's soaked everything." sighed Pippin.   
  
"The storm?" asked Merry in surprise. "Was there a storm last night?"  
  
"There certainly was. My cloak is damp still," Pippin smiled to himself. "I'm not surprised you don't remember, though." He rocked back on his heels, satisfied as the flames began licking at the edges of his carefully built pile of wood, burning steady and bright within. "Good! You'll be warm in no time."  
  
Merry looked at Pippin's tousled coppery curls lit up by firelight, his slim fingers, his delicate-featured face with its sweet curve of mouth, and sighed. Pippin looked over anxiously. "Are you all right?"  
  
"Yes," Merry smiled. "You're doing a good job at being nursemaid, Pippin. Come over here." He held out a hand.  
  
"I should wash the dishes -"  
  
"No," said Merry firmly. "I need you here."  
  
Pippin crawled the few feet over to the couch and sat on the floor facing Merry, legs crossed, face turned up inquiringly. Merry marvelled at the aftereffects of the earlier tears which seemed to have softened Pippin's face, blurring the sharp Took features and making the mouth seem gentler and more vulnerable. He felt as if someone had taken his heart in a fist and squeezed it.   
  
"Thank you for looking after me so well," he said.  
  
Pippin smiled. "What with all the times you've looked after me, it's about time I returned the favour."  
  
Merry swung his legs over the side of the couch and put his feet on the floor; he put a hand on each of Pippin's shoulders, and smiled as Pippin came close enough that his hair brushed Merry's knee. He let his fingers ghost over Pippin's cheek. "Hmmm. I want you to stay and talk with me a while, now, if you will." He drew a deep breath. "If you think it won't upset you too much."   
  
Pippin looked at him steadily, his face quiet, only the tiniest quiver in his full lower lip betraying his emotions.   
  
"Do you think you can talk now?" Merry began stroking Pippin's soft hair, gently combing his fingers through it, and Pippin sighed and closed his eyes. Merry smiled to himself; he'd finger-combed Pippin's hair like this to soothe him ever since his cousin was a toddler, and it gladdened his heart that Pippin still responded to the simple gesture.   
  
"I won't run away again, if that's what you're thinking," said Pippin, eyes closed, "but I think... I think it will be very hard for me to talk. And... and I still don't know what to say."  
  
Merry looked down at his cousin, head tilted back, eyes closed, long lashes like fine pen-strokes laid on the fine clear flesh of his face. He felt a rush of tenderness and wanted to take Pippin in his arms, but instead kept his fingers working gently in the soft coppery hair. "You were able to start talking about it last night, before I stopped you."   
  
He felt, rather than saw, the change in Pippin's attitude; he could sense the sudden tension through the slight contact his fingertips had with Pippin's head. It travelled up through the pores of his skin and thrummed in his blood, and he felt it as a tightening of every nerve and muscle in his body. He took a deep breath and swallowed around the lump in his throat and his heart began to flutter in his chest like a trapped bird, but it had to be said, no matter how painful. He had no doubt that Pippin loved him, that their hearts were twined together so closely that it wasn't possible to tell where one ended and the other began; but that one kiss lay like a heavy veil between them, untouched and unspoken of, and it had to be gotten out of the way.   
  
"I'm sorry about that. Dear Pippin. I'm so sorry I did that."  
  
"Sorry?" asked Pippin; his voice had gone low again, but he sat up straighter and opened his eyes. "What are you sorry for, exactly?"  
  
Merry closed his eyes, concentrating on the silky strands slipping through his fingers, on the sound of Pippin's uneven breathing, trying not to let his emotions overwhelm him. He felt the fear beginning to seep through him and paused, trying to calm his breathing.   
  
"If you want to talk about it," said Pippin, his voice taut as a bowstring, "you have to *talk*, Merry. Tell me."  
  
Merry felt a painful jolt go through him, and felt for a moment as if he was going to be sick again. How could it be so difficult to say such a simple thing?  
  
"When I kissed you. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you even more."  
  
Pippin drew a deep, shuddering breath. "It did upset me."  
  
"I'm so sorry, Pip. Can you forgive me?"  
  
"You could never do anything that I couldn't forgive you for."  
  
Merry opened his eyes, looking straight into Pippin's green ones, and forgot everything he had been going to say; Pippin was smiling, a little sadly, eyes shining. Merry swallowed and stammered out "I didn't mean to force it on you like that, Pip. I didn't know I was going to kiss you until I did. You looked so - " Merry closed his eyes again, so that he wasn't looking at Pippin any more, so that those shining eyes weren't drawing him towards them. "You looked so grieved, and so beautiful, and all I wanted was to look after you and love you, and comfort you, and it breaks my heart that I upset you instead. You're the most precious thing in the world to me. And I want you to know that you're safe with me, that I will never frighten you like that again."  
  
"Frighten me?" Pippin's voice had lost some of the tension, but Merry still couldn't open his eyes. This was the moment he had been dreading.   
  
"It was wrong of me, but it just happened, I didn't think, and then it felt so good - " He felt himself going red, his ears hot and burning to the very tips. "I would have stopped right away if I realised you didn't want to. I didn't mean to force you into something you don't want from me. All I need is to be with you, Pippin, as friends, as we've always been. I won't ask for anything else."   
  
There was a long pause, during which Merry felt the fear that had been coursing through him sink deep into his very bones; he felt sodden with weariness and dread, and wondered if he would ever be able to move from the couch.   
  
There was a small sound, and Merry started - was that a sob, had he made Pippin cry again? He raised his chin, but before he was able to lift his eyes he found Pippin in his arms. Pippin's arms were around him, a hand raised to the back of Merry's head and tangled in his curls, and Pippin's lips were on his, warm and so soft. They were falling backwards, tangled together, and Pippin's hand on the back of his head could not cushion the shock of his head thumping against the back of the couch; but the kiss was filling him with a marvellous liquid warmth, sending little shivers through him. His blood was shot through with something magical, something sparkling and clear and warm like the Brandywine on a summer's day. Pippin's tongue was sliding velvety against his, and then Pippin was sucking at his lower lip, and Merry couldn't breathe. His hands flew up of their own volition and caught in Pippin's hair, trying to steady his head and make him pull back a little; he heard a low noise and realised a second later that it was a moan from his own throat.   
  
"Oh Merry," breathed Pippin, breaking off the kiss suddenly and sliding onto the couch by Merry's side. Then his lips were back, gentle suction trailing hot and damp from Merry's ear along his jawline and up from chin to mouth. Merry shivered and bit his lip to stop himself crying out; he put a hand out and tugged at Pippin's curls, wanting to ask - what? What was it that they had been talking about, what did he need to know?   
  
Pippin licked the corner of Merry's mouth with delicate little flicks of his tongue, and Merry found there was no more need for words. Pippin's hands moved swift and purposeful over him, unbuttoning and unfastening and caressing and stroking, and he was caught in a ridiculous tangle of sleeves and arms and cloth; they both began laughing, giddy and helpless, and Merry sat up and let Pippin unentangle them both, and then sighed as Pippin came into his arms and pressed them together skin to skin. He'd touched Pippin's bare skin before, of course, but only with his hands; having that naked body stretched all along his own was wonderful, a revelation and a temptation all at once, and he ghosted his palms down Pippin's back. Pippin's skin was smooth as butter, yielding gently to the press of fingers; Merry could feel the fine layer of hobbit-fleshiness beginning to renew itself over the hard bone and firm muscle that had slimmed Pippin's body down after a year of hard living and travelling and fighting.  
  
Pippin peppered kisses down Merry's chest as easily as water spilling from the lip of a cup, then kissed his way back up to Merry's mouth again, looking intently into his face. Merry gazed into Pippin's eyes and thought of leaves wet with rain and the sun shining on them; he tangled both hands in Pippin's hair, finding his breath snatched away from him in wonder at Pippin's unguarded face. He felt as if his entire being was glowing with the joy of Pippin's presence, soaking in the strength of Pippin's slim arms, the sun and storm in his eyes, the intricate tangle of curls hanging over his face. Pippin's fingers over Merry's skin were more articulate than spoken words; they spelled out love and trust and desire as they danced up Merry's thigh, swept over his collarbone, entwined with one of Merry's own hands and tenderly caressed his palm before drawing his fingers down along the slim length of Pippin's torso.  
  
They rocked together, firm and gentle, and rocking turned into pressing and pushing and thrusting, until they were moving together so fast and breathlessly that it was almost like flying. Merry watched Pippin's face flicker and blur as his bones and flesh and nerves lit up with a hot bright burst of pleasure that coursed dizzily through him; he opened his eyes and looked into Pippin's, and they fell into one another's eyes and dissolved into tender peace.   
  
TBC...  
  
*** 


	6. Chapter Six

When Merry entered the bedroom after bathing, Pippin was sitting in a chair facing the fire, the flames picking out gold in his curls and throwing his fine profile into shadow. His face was unusually still, and Merry was suddenly struck with how different Pippin's face looked when he was thoughtful. It seemed so unnatural for Pippin's face to be still and quiet. He stepped into the room, but before he could ask, Pippin raised his head and said without preamble "I'm thinking about Frodo."  
  
Merry closed the door behind him, walking over to sit on the hearthrug at Pippin's feet. "What are your thoughts about him?"  
  
Pippin gazed into the fire, not turning to look at Merry. "I was feeling very guilty before. It seemed so wrong that we could be so happy. After Frodo. And, well, you know... because of Frodo." The corner of his mouth turned up, but Merry spotted the faint quiver which betrayed his feelings. He put his hand on Pippin's knee, feeling the hard bone and firm muscle beneath his fingers.  
  
Pippin was still gazing into the fire. "Do you think he'll find healing, over the Sea? Do you think he'll get better, and be happy again?"  
  
Merry was silent for long moments, turning the question over in his mind; but in the end he could find no reassuring words, and the simplest answer was also the truth. "I don't know, Pippin. I hope so." He watched the firelight dance on Pippin's skin, making shadows and lights. "I feel bad about it too; it hurts to think about him. And you were right before; it isn't fair. But we just have to bear it."  
  
They sat in silence for a long time, Merry breathing long and deep, trying to loosen the tight knot in his chest, while Pippin's hand crept to Merry's head and stroked it gently.  
  
"No."  
  
Merry was startled by the sound of Pippin's voice; he raised his head to find that intense green gaze focused on him, and it echoed a memory, which swam away quick as a fish when he tried to catch it. "Pippin?"  
  
"It's not enough just to bear it, Merry. It's not enough."   
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"We have to do more than that. We can't just say 'Well, we have to bear it' and go on feeling empty because Frodo's gone, and grieved because he was hurt so before he left, and guilty because we're still here and because we're able to... well." Pippin's voice softened; his fingers brushed Merry's hair aside, lingering on the brown scar on his forehead. "We were both right, it isn't fair. But we can't let that drain all the good things away for us. Frodo's part of the world now, Merry. It's only here because of him. Frodo is why we need to live, and love each other, and be as happy as we can be. Because he made everything safe for us, and because he's gone. What would Frodo think, if the only people who couldn't be happy in the world he made safe were... were us? And if all the thoughts we had of him were sad ones?"  
  
He paused for breath, and Merry realised with a painful jolt who it was that Pippin's intense expression reminded him of; it was Frodo, Frodo as he had been before the journey, when he would lean forward over a book of verse and earnestly discuss its contents. He had never thought of the two as even remotely similar before, but recognising the stamp of common ancestry on their faces moved him unbearably.  
  
"Merry, don't you see? We'll remember Frodo sadly, because he's gone, but we can't let ourselves just think of him that way. We have to remember the good things he was part of too. Like the party he gave on his Birthday a few years back, when he had the big cake with the sugar flowers on top, and little lanterns on all the trees along Bagshot Row to light the carriages home."  
  
Merry breathed deeply, and managed a smile. "Or the time he lifted a whole pitcher of ale up to drink from it, and he was so drunk that he overbalanced it and poured the whole thing over his face!"  
  
"Or the time he made that mushroom soup without cream or milk or butter!"  
  
"The one that he thickened with so much flour it turned out like mushroom *glue*?"  
  
"Aye, that's the one."  
  
"And he laughed and laughed when we flicked it at each other across the table, and then we ate it anyway!"   
  
"And the way he used to get so smug because he could skip stones across the water and you couldn't."  
  
"Or when he won a game and he'd be trying not to laugh." The memories surged up suddenly, a great tide that swept him off his feet; he drew a deep breath, and it caught in his throat and released itself in a sob.  
  
"Merry, Merry!" Pippin's hands were in his hair again, stroking his head, gentle and firm. "Don't cry."  
  
"I'm not crying," choked Merry. "I'm, I don't know what I am, Pippin, but you're right, you are, I know it. Oh, Pippin. You're right." He leaned into Pippin's touch, shaking, astounded by Pippin's wisdom and by his own ignorance of what now seemed to be the simplest of truths.  
  
Pippin's hands cupped Merry's face, strong and gentle, and lifted his head.   
  
"Come to bed," said Pippin softly.  
  
---  
  
Merry had thought that the first time was a beginning, but he realised that it had been something else; acceptance, closing, catharsis. That had been desperate and gasping and born of need and longing and grief, and the need to seal a bond between them. That had been the ending of an old existence, and the salving of old wounds. This was something else entirely.  
  
Forever after when he remembered this evening it splashed over him in a tide of emotions and memories that pulsed in all his senses. The scent of soap, lemon polish, smoke and fresh sweat; the taste of salt and clean skin, and the smoky pipeweed flavour in Pippin's mouth. The tiny circles of sensation Pippin's fingers left as they pressed against his skin, so warm that he almost expected them to be glowing gold when he looked at them. The sound of their scattered gasps, astounded breathless laughter and soft murmurs; and the sight of Pippin's face, hard and soft by turns as emotions flowed over it, intent with studied concentration as he bent his head to kiss or lick or nibble gently. The fire crackled in the hearth, the wind rose outside and swept ragged clouds past the moon, and Merry and Pippin lay wrapped in tenderness in a room that felt like summer, in one another's arms, hearing time measured out in each other's slow heartbeats.  
  
"That was good," said Pippin, smiling, leaning over to press his cheek against Merry's.  
  
Merry looked up into his glowing eyes and smiled back; but a thought struck him as Pippin turned over and settled himself against Merry's side.   
  
"Pippin?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
Merry hesitated, not wanting to spoil the beauty of Pippin's sleepy smile, but the thought was niggling at him and it had to come out. "I hope Sam's going to be all right."  
  
Pippin was silent for a moment, and then said, "I'm sure he will be. He's got Rose and the baby. Rose won't let him lose himself."  
  
Merry thought for a few minutes. "I suppose you're right. But we should go and see him soon, and make sure."  
  
"Of course." Pippin yawned and kissed Merry's bare shoulder. "Don't worry so much, Merry, please. Sam will be all right. He's with someone who loves him."  
  
Merry smiled in spite of himself. "That doesn't necessarily make everything all right, Pippin."  
  
"No." Pippin answered. "But it makes things easier to bear. Everything's easier, if you're with someone who loves you." He kissed Merry's shoulder. "Sam's with someone who loves him. And so are you, Merry. And so am I."  
  
"And Frodo?"  
  
Pippin was silent for a moment, and answered slowly, "Frodo's safe, and cared for, and he knows he's loved. A part of us went with him, just as a part of him will always be with us. And that's the most any of us can wish for."  
  
Merry nodded slowly, and let the tide of Pippin's slow breathing sweep him away into sleep.  
  
END. END. END. END. END. END. END. END. 


End file.
